That Guy from Nursing - (Ongoing)

Fourteen

A bokeh of distant lights tinted the car window as we were crossing the city bridge. Its gentle array displayed along with the trickling of water droplets when the rain continued drizzling.

Eric shifted his weight closer to my seat before he cleared his throat. "How are you feeling? Are you feeling better?" he asked.

I nodded. Earlier was a close call, for sure, but I just realized it while contemplating after what happened. When it began digesting down my system, I trembled in fear.

I saw him looking at me when I transferred my gaze. His worried eyes flickered with the streak of lights, while his face remained the same: casted by the shadow of guilt and anxiousness.

It was rather unlikely to save a stranger and feel guilty after for being ignorant and acting by impulse only. He should have protected me sooner, he mentioned, persuading with full remorse, but I objected.

With no reluctance, I emphasized how lucky and grateful I was that he looked after me. If not, I'd probably be dead by now. So I asked him to stop worrying anymore and perhaps consider what happened tonight a nightmare that we must bury in our sleep.

His face had lightened up when I hinted a smile on mine. We withdrew them in sync. And from opposite direction, there was an awkward but graceful tone as we both shared a chuckle of relief.

"So how's your preparation for the pageant?" he asked, breaking the silence after.

"Well," I paused, thinking that it was Gail Mason who entered my mind first when I heard him say the word, "pageant".

She made a good company since the beginning of it all — from the training week until this week's rehearsals. 

With her relentless patience and understanding, my journey became undoubtedly easy and smooth-sailing. I could attest that I learned a whole lot of tips and lessons with her along the way.

However, this kind of relationship we both established was put at stake when an another amazing person came to light: Michelle Young. Their adorations scarred jealousy, although, both were considerably great friends to me.

I crossed my arms, pouted my lips, and said, "It has been tiring but I guess it's been fun." 

I sighed — but not this kind of drama-filled fun I needed, for sure.

He glanced at me while tapping his fingernails on the console which dividing our seats. "My mom reminded me to reach out to you if you need help with something," he said. "Remember what she told you over at the dinner?"

"I still do. And it felt like the days have gone so fast," I said, counting to realize that it was four days past already since that dinner. "But—"

The car suddenly came to a stop when we hit the traffic light where it turned yellow then red. As I raised my forehead to the front, I reminisced something that night.

He was there . . . behind me when I excused myself.

He appeared at the doorstep of the gazebo with his white handkerchief on his hand. 

His concerned face unveiled when I peeked at him, with his pitying eyes glued to my drenching face.

I hated him for seeing me like that. Among all people, there's only one person who saw me already in my weakest and vulnerable persona, and that was Gail Mason. But now I had to consider him as the honorable mention.

He never said a word as we exchanged a stare. When he figured that I didn't require his sympathy, he returned his handkerchief to his pocket before he retreated away.